Make More Mutants: United

There was a pounding behind Scott Summers’ eyelids, but it had nothing to do with his powers. He’d come to the United Nations for a discussion on mutant issues, most especially the rise in anti-mutant hate crimes, but all he and the delegation from Krakoa had gotten was semantics. Less mutants than ever have been the victims of violent crime in the past few months. Because there were less mutants to victimize, with so many on Krakoa, but the ones who remained in human-majority populations were at more risk than ever.

But no one in the General Assembly seemed to want to do anything about that, or even discuss it. All they had for him was empty platitudes and empty promises. He and his party had been there for what felt like hours already. They’d come in with a plan of attack, vouchsafed by Xavier and Magneto, to hammer home their talking points of fact, reason, and logic, but not one of the member states wanted to admit there was a problem.

All the effort that’d gone into getting this audience with the world’s power players and they’d accomplished nothing. It was enough to drive Scott to drastic action. He’d take off his sunglasses, show them the truth of the strength they thought they could glad hand and defer, only that seemed too dramatic. Too emotional. Too… Magneto.

Why not take something else off? came a voice in his head, and Scott looked to his left. He’d brought Emma along to the guest table at the General Assembly Hall both because of her keen tactical mind and her ‘starpower’. She was both stateswoman and celebrity, and he had hoped that would give her enough firepower to get through to the UN through their haze of institutional inertia.

He pulled at his necktie as her words hit home. He had come to the UN in a respectable, conservative business suit. Emma was dressed in a retro sixties ensemble that struck him as vaguely mocking of the UN’s ‘hippie’ reputation. She’d taken off the ermine-lined white cape that completed the ensemble at the door, leaving her in a white minidress cut low in the front to show off both her voluptuous cleavage and the X-shaped medallion she wore in deference to their mission, just like Scott’s lapel pin. Underneath the short skirt of the frock, her legs gleamed in alabaster pallor until they were embraced by thigh-high boots of white leather, high-heeled of course. In them, she walked perfectly on the fine line between classy and outrageously sexual.

I’m sure taking off my jacket and rolling up my sleeves would make it look like we’re getting some hard work done, he teeped back. But I don’t want to give these bastards the satisfaction of a photo op. They can’t even be grateful we’re taking their ‘muties’ off their hands.

Then why not take something out instead? Emma suggested over their shared brainwaves, a sultry smirk the only sign to the outside world of what she, and he, were thinking. You know you’re thinking it yourself. This nonsense is a waste of our time. And if we’re going to waste time, it should be on enjoying ourselves.

I think the Secretary General might have something to say about us ducking out for a quickie.

Emma’s grin sharpened like a knife under a whetstone. Why duck out? They already hate us for having powers and being different. Why not let them hate us for fucking so much better than they can?

Scott chuckled under his breath. You’re serious, aren’t you? You really want me to fuck you in front of the entire UN?

All politics is dick-measuring anyway, my darling. You just happen to have the inches to do it literally. Not to mention the stamina. I think you might actually be able to run out the clock on one of these interminable speeches—if you think of baseball very, very hard.

All I can see is how you looked in that pinstripe jersey in the last game we played.

Made you want to get to my fourth base, did it? Emma bit her lip. Don’t tease me, Summers. I’m getting all hot and bothered. Diamonds are supposed to be cool.

Scott looked at her. And even through his sunglasses, Emma knew how he was looking at her. Like territory he was going to occupy. Like an enemy he was going to defeat. Like a piece of meat he was going to consume. Don’t tell me what to do, Frost.

Emma quivered. She loved it when he took that tone with her, even if—especially if—it was only in her head. She bowed her head in acquiescence, eyes downcast, telling Scott she was fine with him being in the driver’s seat, so long as he took her where she needed to go. And no one helped her arrive like Scott did.

Take off your panties, cunt.

It was moments like these that made Emma so glad she wore something as unnecessary as underwear. She picked herself up slightly from her seat, slid her hands up her thighs and underneath her dress, then twanged her thumbs into the waistband of her white panties and skimmed them down her long legs.

In a second, she’d sat back down again, now with only her dress between her bare ass and the seat cushion. Emma plucked her panties off her booted feet and brought them up into the air on her outstretched forefinger, before dropping them down to the table.

The speaker from Symkaria paused, stuttering, as though wondering if he’d just seen what he thought he saw. He blinked repeatedly, eying the mass of crumpled silk now lying on the Krakoan table, but didn’t seem to be able to discern whether it was truly a pair of panties or not.

Emma stretched out her telepathy, feeling the rustle of unease and intrigue going through the crowd. Some had seen—or thought they’d seen—what had happened, while others had only picked up on the vibe. Emma was a commanding presence and even someone as obtuse as a UN bureaucrat should be able to register when she made a move as monumental as deciding to get off.

Scott noticed it as well. He smiled blandly at Emma, his friendly grin not at all giving away the perverse pleasure he took in having her as his bitch. It fed into the enjoyment Emma got in being his bitch. With how much they both got off on these little games, it was a wonder they hadn’t made any more mutants yet. But perhaps, like any Frost, her future offspring had the sense of drama to wait to be conceived for a suitably epic occasion.

You really are getting off on it, aren’t you? You dirty little bitch. It’s not enough for you to get fucked, you want it to be in front of all these people. Hundreds of them. All of them seeing what a slut you are. Do you really want everyone here to know that you’re my whore?

“Oh God yes,” Emma moaned, unable to summon the presence of mind to restrain herself to telepathy anymore, not through the haze of her arousal. She got up and threw herself against Scott’s seated body. His hands went around her and his mouth crushed her tender lips like he was insulted she thought they could take the force of his passion.

The secretary general pounded his gavel for order, unable to ignore how Emma was suddenly straddling Scott’s lap, rubbing herself against his body as she kissed him. “Ms. Frost, will you please return to your own chair? Mr. Summers, you must refrain from—this display of affection is not acceptable…”

With an amused smirk on her face, Jean Grey leaned over to the nearest microphone. They’d neglected to bring Logan along for exactly this reason, but the fact remained. Sometimes you just needed a swinging dick on the table. “Mr. Secretary, my two colleagues are participating in an extremely important Krakoan custom. I realize it may strike you as inappropriate, but I think you passing personal judgment on our culture goes against everything the United Nations stands for.”

“But they’re…” the secretary general pointed his gavel at how Emma was writhing against Scott. “They’re practically making love.”

“And we, as mutants, feel no shame in that,” Jean retorted. “It’s a natural, beautiful part of our lives. Rest assured, though, Mr. Summers is still paying attention to your statements. He and Ms. Frost are giving them all the respect they deserve.”

“Yes,” Emma panted, “don’t let our traditions distract from the UN’s important work. Keep going. Please, don’t stop!”

She was having fun, but this really was turning her on. Her nipples hardened, touching Scott’s body even through the censorship of that oh-so-proper three-piece suit. She needed him so much. Her tongue shot into Scott’s mouth and met his own. Her moans blended with his harsh breaths.

She let him pull her to his chest until she was almost a part of him, while she clutched at his shoulders with her fingernails. The speaker continued his prepared statement, talking about the importance of unity, all the high-minded ideals that Emma couldn’t quite believe were more important than a good, hard fuck.

Emma was always so desperate to be had by Scott. Something about his kiss wasn’t like those she’d gotten from anyone else. It was more than just lust. It was the way he loved her, possessed her. She’d had plenty of saps fall in love with her before, of course—at least they called it love. It was probably close enough for most people. But she was the White Queen and she only accepted the best.

Scott not only gave her the best, he gave her everything. She never quite knew whether he was going to love her or dominate her or punish her or even let her win, let her be the one to top him. With his tactical mind and never-ending stream of issues, he was as unpredictable as she was fickle. Between the two of them—and Jean, and Logan, and Jean & Logan—they never got bored.

Emma loved Scott as much as she hated being bored.

With difficulty, she broke the kiss. “Fuck me, Scott. Fuck me in the ass, it hurts so good, or let me suck you. You can fuck my face. Come right down my throat, or all over me. Wherever you want,” she rasped, staring into his shielded eyes. As always, wondering a little how he was really looking at her, even with her psychic gifts.

Scott laughed dryly. “You know all I want is your cunt. Your other holes can wait until you’ve been bred. Right now, we’re going to make more mutants and you’re going to fucking love it. Just like a slut like you always loves getting cock.”

He picked her up and dropped her ass on the table they were seated at. Emma invitingly opened her legs, letting him look up her skirt.

Scott smirked at her shaven pussy, not a single hair on it—all the better to show off how it gleamed with moisture. “You’re as wet as a carwash.”

“And you’re as hard as a rock,” Emma cooed, casting her eyes down to the bulge in his pants. She whistled. “This is why blondes have more fun.”

She could feel others craning to look past Scott’s body and see what he saw. All around the hall, others were gawking at what they were doing. Sex with Scott was the supreme pleasure, true, but the exhibitionism, the voyeurism—being the center of fucking attention—that was the perfect spice.

Every woman wanted to be as gorgeous as she was, to have a man as virile as Scott, and every man wanted to fuck her. But only Scott got to. She considered it the perfect rejoinder to all their pretensions. If they were so great, why didn’t they get to fuck her?

Scott had similar thoughts, if a bit more humble. He looked at her—her full breasts and invitingly creamy slit—and wondered how he could possibly be great enough to have such a woman. Not to mention Jean, even if he did share her. He shared Emma too, but there was no doubt who she really belonged to. Even if she didn’t submit to Scott so openly, the very fact that she’d volunteered herself to be his sex slave just now—gotten off on the idea—demonstrated far more totally than a wedding ring that they were a match.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Scott husked, low enough that only Emma could hear—though it amused Emma to think of the translators picking up their dirty talk, letting people know what a slut she was in languages from around the globe.

“You can say that all you like—and I do like hearing it—but the proof is between your legs,” Emma reminded him shamelessly.

Scott moved to show her the proof.

The speaker, valiantly trying to push through his speech, lost his train of thought and Emma didn’t need her telepathy to catch the rustling in the crowd as seemingly everyone tried to catch a glimpse of what Scott was drawing through his unzipped fly. It was enough to make her laugh, though for once, Emma practiced self-restraint. There were some things you just didn’t do when the man you love brought out his cock.

“You have a beautiful cock, darling,” Emma simpered, her horny eyes looking over every inch of his stiff erection. “Put it in me, Scott. I want you to fuck me hard and fast. You know the sooner we finish, the sooner we can get back to listening to this scintillating discourse,” she quipped, licking her lips over his thick member. All for me, she purred mentally.

Aren’t you forgetting someone? Jean riposted in her mind.

Emma smirked. If you want to have him in front of a thousand people, be my guest. But only I’m genteel enough to show off what a good fuck I am no matter how many people are present. That’s something I share with Scott and you don’t. Why I can please him and you can’t—

You whore, Jean teeped, scowling.

Emma eased her way back on the table, her long legs open in invitation. Plenty of room for Scott between her thighs. His mouth dropped open in wonder as he saw her wet, pink portal spread for his cock.

Absolutely. And this will be a better fuck than you’ll ever have being a good girl.

Scott grabbed Emma by her slender waist and pulled her to the edge of the table. His upright cock swayed and twitched between her thighs, looming over her exposed sex. As hard as it was, Scott wanted to leave it there for the moment. He wanted to kiss Emma, feel her, but this wasn’t the time for that. Their exhibitionism had made her too hot to wait through foreplay. Everything about Emma made it clear what she wanted and Scott had to admit, he wasn’t enough of a gentleman not to be impatient to sink his cock inside her.

Emma looked on, taking a smug pride in the size of Scott’s endowment as he prepared to feed it to her. So many of the women in the crowd envied her. Even more satisfyingly, others were too frightened of his length and thickness to dare to indulge themselves as she would. They could barely watched, the cowed little girls…

Scott held himself to her slit and leaned into her, pressing his body to hers, sinking his manhood inside her cunt.

“Yessss!” Emma mewled as she stretched with his entry. She deliberately let out all the delicious enjoyment she felt, teasing both her audience and Jean with it. She wanted them to hunger for this brand of sex they could watch but never be bold enough to claim. I

f this were back in Krakoa, what they were doing would’ve touched off a full-blown orgy. But all these masters of the universe could manage was to the teeming, sweaty masses at a sex show.

“Put it in deep, lover! Fuck that cunt! Show them all why I’m your slut! Oh, you sweet fucker! Give it to me! Fuck me! Make me come! Scott, baby! Don’t stop! Let me have it!” She mindlessly rattled off her passion as he plunged into her time and time again.

At this indignity, flaunted in everyone’s faces, the red-faced secretary general could take no more. “This is—this is disruptive to the proceedings of this body! She cannot be carrying on this way! Even if it is Krakoan culture!”

“I quite agree, Mr. Secretary,” Jean said, getting up from her seat. She came around to the other side of the table, where she slapped her hand over Emma’s open mouth. “Keep quiet you little slut,” she continued, sotto voce to Emma alone. “Nothing comes out of your mouth but filth and condescension anyway!”

Emma couldn’t be bothered to think of a retort. All she could do was continue her passionate cries, now in the mental realm. He’s so deep inside me, Jean. He’s giving me every inch! I’m taking it all!

“You horrible little cunt,” Jean whispered.

I love how he feels inside me, Jean. Feels like he’s fucking my womb. Like that fat cock is fucking absolutely all of me. I think he may have bred me already.

Scott’s mouth came down on Emma’s chest, biting her nipples through her dress. She cried out into Jean’s hand, the gag making it impossible to tell whether she was vocalizing pain or pleasure, as if it mattered at this point. Her ass came up off the table to meet Scott while he thrust into her receptive sex. Her legs shot out and wrapped around Scott’s waist. Emma’s ankles locked to hold him inside her, pull him deeper into the bottomless gluttony of her pussy.

“I can’t believe how much of a slut you are,” Scott murmured in amazement, trying to keep up with Emma’s wild movements. “I can feel the difference—all these people watching is just turning you on more!”

“They’re all thinking what a whore she is,” Jean told him in a stage whisper, looking directly into Emma’s eyes. “She loves that. It’s making her come.”

Talk later! Fuck me now! Emma teeped underneath the onslaught of moans being soaked up by Jean’s hand.

Her complete abandon spurred Scott on. He had to admit, even now, he was accustomed to Jean and her ilk—nice, demure girls who were more reserved in bed. He was still getting used to how wanton Emma could be, and she’d never reacted with such passion as she did now. But part of what Scott loved about Emma was that she owned how screwed up she was, taking pride in all the madness she got off on. And he knew the best way to show he loved her was to give her the fuck of a lifetime while she was keyed up enough to enjoy it as a religious experience.

That’s it, darling! Fuck me hard! Harder! Don’t be afraid to pump me full of cum either! I don’t care if it hurts! I don’t care if you break this pussy! Just don’t stop! Give me more, my love! I want it hard and deep!

And when Scott did pump into her hungry cunt at a faster pace, the Latverian ambassador felt compelled to speak up: “This is obscene! The woman is a telepath! We can all hear what she’s thinking! She is an absolute whore!”

Unsurprisingly, Emma let out a loud moan at the accusation, expressing her orgasmic zeal as best she could through Jean’s hand. Usually, Scott would’ve slapped her, spanked her when she was this far gone, but under the circumstances, he thought she was being stimulated enough.

“Really?” Jean asked, her voice all the more neutral for how enthusiastically Scott and Emma were fucking in front of her, as though she were demonstrating how easy it was to ignore them. “I’m surprised. It is possible for some people to pick up on a telepath’s unshielded thoughts, but they have to be exceptionally weak-willed to be that suggestible. Are you sure you’re not just imagining things?”

Cowed, the ambassador sat down.

Legs locked behind Scott’s back and nails digging into his shoulders, Emma took her man’s thrusts like a cheap whore. As much as she enjoyed flaunting her sophistication and elegance, Emma was at the height of pleasure when she thought of herself as the lowest of whores. Nothing more than a cock holster. A slut to be used. A bimbo who would do anything for a hard prick.

And she knew it was making Jean more pissed off than ever that she’d stopped moaning, but now her eyes were rolled back in her head as she gurgled on the liquid ecstasy that poured into her body like champagne at a party. It would’ve struck Emma as ironic if it didn’t feel so right. She loved being one of the glitterati, she loved Scott’s Valentine’s Day romance with her, but when she got off, she got off like a bitch in heat.